


this protector.

by katarama



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, First Meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 06:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5655070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison grimaces.  “Sometimes you can’t choose your family,” she says.  She’s not going to deny that Malia is wrong, or deny any of the awful things her family has done, especially to the Hales.  She’s moved past the point of alternately being willfully defensive and overwhelmingly guilty for Gerard and Kate’s sins.  She has her own to look back on, and she can’t undo what they had done any more than she already has.</p><p>“I did,” Malia responds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this protector.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rohruh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rohruh/gifts).



Allison has been used to most of the other new faces in Beacon Hills High being teachers, with BHHS’s track record.  She’s had a year there under her belt, enough to get to know most of the faces she sees in her classes.  Every semester there’s a few new people, faces that Scott and Stiles and Lydia have been seeing since kindergarten but that Allison has never seen, but it isn’t that big of a deal.  She is solid and grounded in her ragtag group of friends, and even after a few breakups and lots of fur and claws, that hasn’t changed.

The first day of second semester of junior year, though, Allison looks to her seat in homeroom, the one next to Stiles, and sees a new girl there, long hair and short shorts in the winter, grinning with her teeth bared.  Stiles doesn’t seem the slightest bit defensive, the way he often does when unfamiliar people get too close, so Allison figures she isn’t a stranger to him.  She looks uncomfortable, though, her eyes constantly darting around the room, her hands picking at her sweater.  It’s a look Allison recognizes on a deep level, is incredibly familiar with.  It’s a face she’s sure she’s worn, at several points in her life, when she settled in her desk in homeroom at a new school.

Allison picks an empty seat near the front of the room, slightly unsettled by the change.  She figures that someone will catch her up, but it doesn’t stop her from feeling left out of the loop, when she just started to finally feel like they all had cards out in the open.

“Oh, that’s Malia!” Scott says when she asks him in the hall before English.  “Malia decked him at the skate park, and they hit it off.”

It’s about par for the course for Stiles’ friendship origin stories, so Allison is ready to accept it for all its worth and start figuring out how to fold someone new into their social circle while avoiding overtly talking about the supernatural.  They just got to the point where they finally realized Danny knew everything, and now they’re back to square one, the whispered conversations and “dodge the uninvolved human” games they played before.

And admittedly were not the best at, according to Danny.  Allison isn’t sure his opinion counts, though, considering the fact that both Lydia and Jackson had told him, independently of each other, while they were figuring things out.  

“We met her over the summer, while you were in France,” he says, almost apologetically.  “We would’ve told you, but…”

“It’s fine,” Allison says.  Neither of them wants him to finish the sentence, and Scott looks grateful.  “She doesn’t seem bad.”

“She’s not, at all,” Scott says enthusiastically.  “She’s pretty funny and has way better balance on a board than Stiles.  Probably because she’s a werecoyote.  She was actually a coyote when we met this summer, and it’s been kind of… an ongoing thing.  The whole being human all the time thing is actually pretty new.  And also why she punched Stiles at the skate park.”

“Oh,” Allison says.  “Lydia didn’t tell me about a new werecoyote in town.”

“Lydia wasn’t really involved?” Scott offers.  “But she isn’t a threat, to anyone.  Her control’s a bit of a work in progress, but…”

“Not something you felt the need to tell my dad about,” Allison finishes.

Scott smiles again, weak but grateful.  “Yeah.  Especially when the cops were kind of already involved, as it was.  The less shooting the better.”

Allison gets her books out of her locker and closes it, checking the clock.  “You’re gonna have to introduce me, if she’s becoming part of the gang,” she says.

“I will,” Scott promises.  “You’re gonna like her, I’m sure of it.”

Scott’s optimism is contagious, as always, and Allison doesn’t have a reason to suspect he’s wrong.  “I look forward to it,” she says, and the warm smile on Scott’s face tells her it was the exact right thing to say.

* * *

 

“You’re an Argent,” are the first words out of Malia’s mouth.  The aren’t as hostile as they could be, Allison guesses, though they’re hardly friendly.  They’re more… assessing.  Careful.  Measured.  Allison supposes that’s fair, considering.  Malia’s probably heard warnings of hunters, probably been told by Stiles and Scott dozens of times that there are real threats out there, reasons for her to control her shift.  The name Argent had to have been the first one to come up.

If she’s known them that long, though, it’s possible she knows more.  Allison would hope that Stiles and Scott told her that Allison is on their side.  If werecoyotes get chemosignal senses, the way werewolves do, Malia probably knows even more, if Scott was the one to talk about her.

“I am,” Allison confirms.  “The head of the Argents here in Beacon Hills.”

“Cora says your grandfather was a monster, and your aunt was even worse,” Malia says bluntly.  

Allison grimaces.  “Sometimes you can’t choose your family,” she says.  She’s not going to deny that Malia is wrong, or deny any of the awful things her family has done, especially to the Hales.  She’s moved past the point of alternately being willfully defensive and overwhelmingly guilty for Gerard and Kate’s sins.  She has her own to look back on, and she can’t undo what they had done any more than she already has.

“I did,” Malia responds.  “Lydia says my father is Peter, and Derek says I look like his Grandma Hale, but I’m a Tate.  Scott says you chose, too.”

“I chose wrong,” Allison says.  “And then found my way back.”

The table goes quiet for a moment, no one wanting to interrupt the conversation, Malia considering Allison’s words.  It feels to Allison like a moment of truth, like this is when she’s going to find out if she gets the Malia Tate seal of approval.

Malia shrugs.  “Scott says you’re a threat, but not to me, and Cora says you’re hot and probably won’t kill me.  Stiles told me about you and Scott mating.”

“Dude,” Scott interjects, turning on Stiles.  “Really, Stiles?”

“She could smell the UST on you all summer, bro, better me than Cora.  Or Derek, can you imagine him talking about you and Allison boning?” Stiles says.  “Plus, you made me the expert on you and Allison having sex, if you didn’t want me to use that information…”

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed about mating,” Malia says to Scott, her eyebrows furrowed.  “I’d mate with her, too.”

Scott is pink, and Allison is certain her face is probably flushed even hotter.  Malia doesn’t seem flustered in the slightest, carrying on drinking her milk like nothing’s out of the ordinary.  

“Right.  So math class,” Scott starts up, a weak attempt to change the conversation.  Malia groans, though, and the new topic catches hold.

Allison cycles the words through her head for the rest of the day.  It’s hard not to.

* * *

 

Malia being around definitely adds some unpredictability to Allison’s life.  The classes that Malia is in with Allison are much more interesting, the first week or two, until Malia settles into the rhythm of things.  Malia still has her own priorities, and sitting perfectly still and attentive in class is quickly revealed to not be one of them.  She tries hard, though, and when Lydia has one of her group study sessions for math, Malia is there, highlighters in hand.  

Allison thinks Malia has warmed to her.  She clung to Stiles and Scott, at first, but as the semester goes along, Malia spends more time with Allison and Lydia, or even with Allison alone.  She grows comfortable with getting in Allison’s personal space pretty quickly, once she decides that Scott is right, and that Allison isn’t a threat to her.  It’s been since Allison was dating Scott that she had someone in her life that is as physically affectionate as Malia; Allison’s dad gives good hugs when everything is wrong, and Lydia has never been uncomfortable with casual physical contact with Allison.  But Malia seeks physical contact more naturally, unfiltered desire for touch and closeness manifesting without reservation.  It happens more with Allison than with Lydia, and it makes Allison’s mind wander back to that first day, at lunch.

“She likes you,” Stiles tells her one day, when they’re stuck working on a group project after school.  “It’s like… she comes to me about everyday questions, stuff like how to focus in class, because I can provide excellent advice that she should absolutely follow.  And she appreciates Scott, and he can say, ‘okay, we don’t kill if there are better options,’ and she can take that into account.  Maybe not exactly _get it_ , right away, but she can take it into account.”

“Where do I come in?” Allison asks.

“No idea,” Stiles responds, holding the gnawed end of his pen cap up to his mouth.  “But Scott and I are doing pretty awesome, don’t you think?”

Allison sits on the question for a while.  She thinks about the time she spends with Malia, but it’s hard to be really objective about it, and not to think about where she’d like to fall.  There’s nothing about her and Malia’s relationship that’s really unique, that she can think of, or that she doesn’t get just as much from one of the others.  Scott is her alpha, and Stiles is her closest friend, and that covers a lot of ground right there.  Sexual attraction, she supposes.  Allison has no proof that that’s something unique to her, though, just that it’s been confirmed with her.

She can concretely pinpoint the moment when that changes, though, and everything falls into place.  

There are rumors of a new wolf in town, a few new bodies with claw marks cutting flesh.  They’re found near Malia’s old den, and she nominates herself to go check things out, since she knows that neck of the woods better than anyone, even Derek.  Her control has improved, and whether she can manage an attack isn’t really anyone’s concern anymore.  

“I should go, too,” Scott says immediately, but Allison knows he has a big test the next day, and there are enough capable fighters in the group that there’s no reason he needs to be everywhere at once.

“How about I go, instead?” Allison offers.  “It’s just a scouting mission, right?”

“Anything you say is just a scouting mission is going to end up being not a scouting mission,” Danny points out.  “It’s Beacon Hills.”

“You know I’d be armed anyway,” Allison reassures him.

It’s obvious that Scott doesn’t really like it, but Stiles is in favor of him staying back, and it’s hard to argue with Allison when she’s making a rational, informed decision within her capacity as the head of the Argent family, and not just being Allison, fretting over him completing his schoolwork.  He relents, and Allison and Malia head out together, parking just along the edge of the woods and walking silently through from there.

Malia catches the scent almost immediately when they get close, and they track it deeper into the woods.  It’s dark, the moon barely crescent and the dense forest blocking the stars, and if Allison didn’t have night vision goggles, she’d be wandering blindly through the woods, her ears trained on the sound of Malia’s footfalls.  Even that wouldn’t give her much to go on, though; Malia took her shoes off in the car before she shifted, and even in partial shift form, Malia has an innate sense of how to move through the trees and brush without drawing attention to herself.

Allison falls into a quick pace, relying on Malia’s senses to bring them to where they need to be.  She almost stumbles when Malia stops abruptly, freezing dead in her tracks on the edges of a clearing.  

“Here,” she mouths to Allison, not even daring to whisper.  Allison steadies herself and carefully draws her Chinese ring daggers, just in case.

The movement is enough, though, and suddenly there’s the crunch of leaves on either side of her.  She moves close to Malia, rotating so her back is to Malia’s.  “How many are there?” she asks, abandoning the idea that silence would aid them at all.

“Two,” Malia says.  “Two werewolves that I can hear.”

“One for each of us, then, if it comes to a fight,” Allison says.  

Naturally, it does.  The werewolves are there to kill Scott, which Allison has discovered is becoming a trend, though when they see the Argent pendant hanging around Allison’s neck, their focus redirects a little bit.  In almost no time at all they’re at her throat, Allison slashing with her daggers and enjoying the brief flash of surprise flit through the blue eyes of the werewolf in front of her when the cut flashes red and doesn’t heal right away.

“Wolfsbane,” Allison says, when they back out of reach.  It’s just trace amounts, but she doesn’t want to tell them that.  It’s easier if they think it’s more serious than it is.  “Scott doesn’t kill unless he has to, but I’m not Scott, and neither is Malia.  This is your warning.  Leave Beacon Hills, or we’ll quit holding back.”

The two werewolves share a quick glance, but they don’t say a word.  Instead, they launch another attack.  Allison can feel Malia moving behind her, can hear the slash of claws through the air and low grunts of pain.  She has her own hands full, with the werewolf pushing himself closer and closer to her, the rank smell of hot, sour breath in her face.  She stabs deep, enough to leave him howling in pain, and she pushes him, hard, watching him stumble to the ground.  She turns to Malia to see the other werewolf hunching with Malia’s claws buried in his chest, his eyes wide.

“Malia,” Allison says quietly, “this is their warning.”

Malia yanks her claws from him, stepping back towards Allison.  “Do they really need one?  I don’t think they’re gonna change their minds.”

“We offered one, still,” Allison says.  “Those are the terms of the agreement Scott and I made.”

There’s a flash of movement behind Allison that Allison catches too late, and the werewolf that was behind her closes in on her before she can turn herself around.  She knows what to do, knows exactly how to flip things back in her favor, because Argent training leaves nothing untouched, but she doesn’t have to move a muscle before Malia’s pressed up against her front, her claws digging into the werewolf’s side, where his skin’s still bloody from Allison’s dagger.

“Leave,” Malia says to him, her voice as hard as iron.  “Leave, or you’re dead.”

The werewolves take off.  Malia’s still pressed close to her, so close that even Allison knows Malia can hear loud and clear the way her heartbeat and breath even out.  “Thanks,” she says, “turns out they listened to you more than they listened to me.”

“You could still hear in your heartbeat that you would’ve done it, though,” Malia says.  “Too even and steady to be scared to kill.  You aren’t like Scott, are you?”

Allison doesn’t have to think long to admit the answer to that question.  “None of us are hardened enough to _want_  to kill.  Some of us have less of a problem with the idea.  I was trained for it.”

“And it fed me,” Malia says, wiping the blood from her hands onto her shirt.  “Your way seems more realistic.”

“I don’t want to kill blindly, out of rage and hatred,” Allison says.  “I don’t want to lead a family in killing indiscriminately, or killing in revenge.  We protect those who cannot protect themselves.  That doesn’t always mean death.”

“But when it does?” Malia asks.

“Then I do what needs to be done,” Allison says.  

“And when you can’t?”

Allison isn’t entirely comfortable with the idea, but she knows that, even with all of her training and all of her skills, she’s only human.  “Well, I have a pack now.  And based on tonight, I think I can say that you’d be right there with me, protecting me.”

“Yes,” Malia says, without hesitation.  “I will be.”

The walk back to the car is quiet, and Allison starts to feel the tiredness settling into her bones.  She drops Malia off at her house and drives herself home in silence, mulling over the night.  She knows she’ll need to text Scott what happened, just so he’s aware of what they’re facing and the high likelihood that they’ll be back.  

She leaves that for when she gets home, though, and spends the car ride back thinking about Malia’s breasts pressed against her chest through Malia’s thin jacket, and the certainty in Malia’s eyes when she said she would protect Allison.

There’s room to grow into each other, but Allison thinks she has a much better idea now how she and Malia fit together.

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr [here](sleepy-skittles.tumblr.com).


End file.
